


The Wolf You Feed

by Sam_Nook



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Spanish American War, Victorian, headcanon that when nations die they go to limbo, histober2020, inktober but its writing, inktober2020, prompt was victorian, revolutionary war! america, spain mentioned, spanish american war! america
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26907697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sam_Nook/pseuds/Sam_Nook
Summary: Finally, after a long moment of silence, he whispered into the darkness between them. "Are you disappointed?"
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Wolf You Feed

**Author's Note:**

> Histober/Inktober 2020 Day Eight: Victorian
> 
> I know this doesn't exactly focus on the victorian era, but it's at the same time as it so close enough. Also, headcanon, when nations die, they temporarily go to limbo as their bodies heal. Sometimes things happen there. 
> 
> The Spanish American War was between Spain and America in 1898. American won the war, and from then, America became a big player in the world.

Alfred knew he had died as soon as he opened his eyes. He gasped loudly and jerked into a sitting position. In his mind, Antonio's final words seemed to echo like the shot that had killed him. 

"You think you'll end up any different from the rest of us?" The Spaniard had hissed, his steeled gaze breaking Alfred's defiant one. "You might not believe it, but you are no different from the rest of us. You crave power too, and it will come back to haunt you."

Alfred clamped his hands down over his ears as if to block out the sound. His stomach restlessly turned almost as if he was seasick. He knew he must have looked pathetic sitting there on his knees, holding his head and sobbing like a child. 

He was pathetic. He wasn't made for these kinds of jobs. He had hardly interacted in foreign affairs, especially in the last twenty years. But here he was with a war in his hands against an empire. What was he doing? 

He was doing what was right. Cuba needed help, and he was more than willing to provide that help. It was what he stood for, right? Freedom, justice? Besides, Spain had attacked first, right? 

Alfred's hands tightened around his light curls and dug into the skin of his scalp. He couldn't think he couldn't breathe. He leaned over, trying to suck in shaky mouthfuls of air, but his lungs seemed to struggle. He was panicking, tearing at the ground to try and calm his beating heart and mind down. 

A warm hand on his back startled him, and he jerked away quickly to crouch in a defensive position. 

"America." The other spoke quietly, leaning over to wipe at the tears that lingered on Alfred's sunburnt cheeks. Chills ran down Alfred's back as he heard his own voice talking, and he closed his eyes tighter. This wasn't what he needed. 

He knew that strange things could happen in Limbo. He had heard stories from England and the older nations, but despite the dozens of times Alfred had died over the two hundred years of his life, he had not yet had an experience like the ones he had been told about by the older nations. 

"Open your eyes; look at me." Alfred glanced up and immediately looked away in shame. He found himself talking with a younger version of him. He guessed immediately where this other him belonged to, especially with the defiance burning in his eyes. 

It was his Revolutionary War self. His blue uniform was caked in mud and blood, and it didn't look any better than Alfred's clothing he wore at the moment. 

Finally, after a long moment of silence, he whispered into the darkness between them. "Are you disappointed?" 

Alfred wasn't sure what answer he wanted to hear. He was doing what he thought was right. Well, it seemed right to him, but maybe his real desires were closer to what Spain had told him. Perhaps he was just as power-hungry as the rest of the other nations. He had already spread across the continent, and it had been a path of blood and suffering to do so. 

"I think the real question is, are you disappointed?" 

Alfred didn't want to answer that. He wanted someone to give him an answer. Give him a chance to prove them wrong. It was easy to prove others wrong, he had done it many times in his short history, but it would be impossible to prove himself wrong. He knew all his own faults, and it was harder to talk himself out of what he knew was wrong. Lying to yourself was a challenge. 

"I don't want to be," Alfred answered, daring to look up as he spoke. His voice quivered as he watched as his past self kneeled next to him. 

"No one does, Alfred. We all make choices, and sometimes they're good choices, and sometimes they're bad. I don't think it's fair to focus on just your bad or good choices. You will never be as good as a person you want to be. You will mistakes, we all do." He observed Alfred and continued, "but you can always try to be a good person. You have a heart, Alfred. You strive for freedom and justice, and I know you can do good in the world, but you need to decide what you will do to make yourself a better person. You need to choose and do."

Alfred stared at him as the words sunk in. It made sense. He wanted to be a good person; he wanted to remember for doing the world well. 

"Look, it's like the choice we made when we became independent. We believed it was the right thing to do. It was best for our people, and even if we did hurt England, it doesn't make us bad people. Your morals aren't skewered, you need to decide where you stand, and once you do, you have to take your shot. Run with it, don't let anyone stop you." 

"But I-" 

"No! No, buts! This is your choice. You must decide what you believe is good and bad. I can't help you any more than what I can tell you. You've seen more than I have; you know more than I do. You must decide where you stand, Alfred Jones, or you will never find solid ground." 

Alfred pursed his lips and grimly nodded. This was his choice. He had the world in his hands, and it was up to him to decide what he was going to do, and he was going to do good. 

When he looked up to speak again, perhaps to thank himself or to say something else, he found himself staring into the darkness. He was alone now, almost as if he had been alone the whole time. His frows burrowed in confusion, but he brushed it off. In the back of his mind, he could sense a heartbeat slowly starting once more. 

"I'm going to make you proud." He whispered into the darkness, hoping to reach whoever had spoken to him. 

"I'm going to make the world a better place."


End file.
